


Scenario 4

by rideswraptors



Series: Kastle Scenarios [4]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, see first part for warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 21:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16227344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rideswraptors/pseuds/rideswraptors
Summary: Karen keeps seeing Frank in shadows. She’s not having it.





	Scenario 4

Three months. Three months passed without a whisper or a word about him. Or from him. It was as if all of New York City had forgotten about Frank Castle and the Punisher. 

 

With the grand exception of one Karen Page. 

 

Believe it or not, she didn’t sit around waiting for him, pining or fretting. She fretted. A lot. But she didn’t sit at home doing it. She had articles to write. People to see. She made new friends in the Defenders, Jessica, Trish, Danny, Luke, and even Claire. Jessica and Trish were...going through shit they wouldn’t discuss with Karen, but she didn’t mind. Trish would invite her out with them, and she’d play buffer until Jessica had to go work. Then Trish would walk her home and take a cab back to her swanky West Side apartment. 

 

It was on one of those nights that Frank swept back into her life like the hurricane he was. 

 

She and Trish were walking back to her place, arm in arm, chatting about work and gushing about a book they were both reading. Trish was in the midst of another lecture on why Karen should take up some self-defense classes when Karen saw a flash out of the corner of her eye which made her skin prickle out of sheer familiarity. Naturally, she swept the thought away. On more than one occasion, she’d felt eyes on her, and her therapist said that was completely normal after everything she’d been through. And oh yeah, she had a therapist now. Obviously, this was another one of those things, so she brushed it off.

 

Trish was telling her about her Krav Maga instructor, and how she was more than welcome to come over and give it a try. See if there was anything similar in the area that she might like. Karen was getting ready to dismiss the idea (again), when Trish’s grip on her tightened. 

 

“Don’t look back, but there’s a guy following us.”

 

“A guy?” Karen spluttered, resisting the very real reflex to turn around and see for herself. 

 

“Yeah, since the bar. I thought it was a coincidence, but...I couldn’t get a look at his face. Hat on and hood up.” 

 

Karen’s heart did a stupid, ridiculous, outrageously dumb thing and  _ fluttered _ . But her brain went in to practical decision-making mode. First, she needed to see the guy to know. Second, if it wasn’t him, Trish was well-trained. Third, if it  _ was _ him, she would need to get Trish to ignore him somehow. He would hang back until she was alone, right? All of that thinking happened in a quick panic until she blurted out.

 

“Let’s turn here, then!” Trish’s eye widened at her volume. She took a breath. “I can get a look at him, just in case, you know?” She shrugged for effect and waited too eagerly. Trish nodded, and they turned together, arm in arm, to go left. As they did, Karen let her gaze sweep down the sidewalk. 

 

And she saw him. It  _ was _ him. It had to be. Same shape, same size, same walk. So familiar that she nearly called out. But in the next moment, he had ducked into an alley and disappeared. A protest was on her lips immediately, but she swallowed it. Instead she turned back to Trish and shrugged again. 

 

“No one there.”

 

Trish stopped them and they waited for a moment so she could be sure. She seemed confused and irritated, but there was nothing for it. No one was following them. Anymore.

 

Regardless, Trish insisted on coming up and staying with her for a little bit while her car made its way to Karen’s place. Karen didn’t  _ mind _ per se, but she was feeling antsy and confused. While Trish chattered about her ideas for the show and wanting to interview Karen soon, Karen let her eyes drift over to the fresh vase of white roses in her window. They’d been there for 93 days now, a fresh bouquet every 2 weeks or so. 

 

“--Karen?” 

 

“What?” She snapped her attention back to Trish, who was watching her with no small amount of concern. She had to shake off the strangeness, pretend to be chill and normal for a minute. If only for Frank’s sake. “Sorry, what did you ask?”

 

“I asked if you were okay?” Trish followed up, a bit patronizing but mostly puzzled. 

 

“Right. Of course. I’m fine. Of course, I’m fine.” 

 

“All right,” Trish answered slowly, looking unwilling to pry. She held up her phone. “My car is here. Call my assistant to schedule an interview, and don’t be late to Foggy’s girlfriend’s charity thing cause if I have to listen to him bitch one more time--”

 

Karen held her hands up in defeat. “I get it. I’ll do my best. Text me when you’re home?” They hugged, kissed cheeks, said good night, and just like that Karen was alone again. 

 

Before she went to bed, she re-positioned the roses and unlocked the window. 

 

Just in case. 

 

*

 

He didn’t come that night. Or the next night. Or the night after that. In fact, she didn’t get another sense of him until Thursday evening. Which just happened to be the night of a date one of her girlfriends at work had set up. Karen was a bit of a celebrity at  _ The Bulletin _ and evidently, everyone had a specific person in mind to set her up with. She’d allowed it because she had no reason not to. Even though she had one glaringly huge reason not to, she just felt like she was in limbo and a few dates wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

 

Apparently, she was pretty wrong about that.

 

Her date, Greg, was talking about his work. A perfectly normal thing to do on a first date, except that it was boring and he was boring. Wonderfully nice and normal and simple. But boring. He asked a lot of good questions and seemed genuinely interested her in work. Well...everyone was interested in her work for one awful reason. 

 

“So what was it like coming face to face with the Punisher?” he asked, trying to seem calm and pretending like it was an average, unintrusive question. Karen held back a scowl and jerked her fork impatiently. 

 

“I don’t talk about Frank Castle,” she informed him snippily. He seemed a little put off, but recovered.

 

“Of course,” he shrugged casually, “it just seems like something that doesn’t happen very often. You know, unless he’s killing you.”

 

_ He doesn’t kill innocent civilians _ . She wanted to throw it in his face, snarl at him for his cavalier attitude, but she choked it down. 

 

“No,” Karen answered coolly. “It doesn’t.” 

 

Greg walked her home and said he had a nice time and asked her out again. She said she’d get in touch with him with no intention of doing so. Her insides were twisted and rankled about his brief commentary about Frank. Couldn’t be helped. When Greg went to kiss her on the cheek, that’s when she saw him.

 

Posted up against a stoop across the street, hovering in the shadow of it. Beanie on, hood up, wearing all black with his hands tucked into his pockets. Just watching. Not looking ready to move or approach or do anything resembling normal in this situation. Not that it would ever be normal. Karen stared, barely hearing the words coming out of Greg’s mouth. She heard herself agreeing all the same. That is, until Greg followed her gaze and he sneered. 

 

“Jesus, you really oughta find a better neighborhood. Creeps like that lurking all over the place.” Karen had the insane urge to slap him. 

 

“Yeah,” she answered, not looking at him, “creeps. Goodnight, Greg.” 

 

Karen didn’t hear his goodbye, didn’t care to see which direction he went, she just kept her eyes locked on Frank. Still, he didn’t move. Just watched her. His presence was heavy and full of meaning she couldn’t get a good grip on. It was infuriating. So he must have been waiting for something. A sign or permission to approach. Karen let out a long sigh, finally breaking their staredown to shake her head at the ground. Then she turned, went inside, and didn’t look back.

 

She locked her window that night. 

 

*

 

Two days came and went with no sign from him. Part of her was glad he got the hint, the other part was enraged. How dare he disappear for three months, show up out of the blue, and not even have the courtesy to show up in the daylight? Not even try to approach her in a normal way? Not even try to  _ speak to her _ ? Even she noticed that her co-workers, and Ellison for that matter, were giving her wide berth. She spent the whole day in the office on Saturday, just to keep herself busy and squarely out of Frank’s reach. Unfortunately, Marci’s stupid charity gala was that night, and Karen had promised Foggy a thousand times that she would show up on time and unscathed. She would much have preferred to stew in her irritation at Frank at home and alone, but she’d promised too many times. No getting out now. 

 

She’d rented a simple black evening gown, with a halter neckline and a slit up the right leg to just above the knee. She was attending as Danny’s “date” so that people didn’t think she was there for work and didn’t bother her unnecessarily. He came to pick her up in his limo, flashing a grin at her that had her rolling her eyes. 

 

“Lighten up, Kare,” he said, opening the door for her and sliding in after. “It’s just another boring dinner.” 

 

He was right, of course. And if anyone could take her mind off of Frank for an hour or two, it was her ragtag group of oddball friends. Foggy and Marci schmoozed everyone, meaning watching Foggy put on his charming act was funny as hell. He snuck away for a moment to do a shot with them at the bar, and then ran back as soon as Marci noticed he was missing. Trish did her typical harassment of bigwigs who were too condescending for words, while Danny and Karen attempted to hold her back. Jessica was much more effective in those cases, but she’d outright  _ refused _ to attend anything she couldn’t wear jeans and boots to. 

 

Karen, overall, tried to keep herself calm and professional. She kept reminding herself that it was just like she was on the job, she had to focus and be pleasant until she had an out. It didn’t come until late. Until Colleen texted Danny that she had something for him that couldn’t wait. Karen leapt at the chance to leave early, begging Trish to stay and enjoy herself.

 

“Get a good lead for me, yeah?” 

 

She started to follow Danny out, but Trish snagged her wrist, gently pulling her back. She looked her square in the eye, intense and purposeful. As always. 

 

“You know you can tell me if something’s going on, right? You can trust me. I can help.” 

 

A cold, broken part of Karen’s heart mended right in the moment, and she deflated. Still, she wasn’t deterred from leaving. She hugged her friend and promised to text her when she got home, and reminded her to be safe. Then she left. 

 

Danny dropped her at her door and sped off into the night, not bothering to check that she made it inside okay. She scowled at herself. Danny was Danny. Not Matt or Foggy or...she lifted her eyes to that same spot. And there he was again, as if she’d summon him from mere word association. It felt that way anyway. However, this time, she wasn’t surprised or confused or caught off guard. 

 

She was pissed. 

 

Barely paying attention to traffic, Karen crossed the street in her heels, clutch in her left hand. He didn’t move as she bore down on him except to straighten to full height. The first thing she did was slap him right in the face.

 

And he let her. Which was surprising all by itself.

 

But instead of recoiling away, getting angry, retaliating, or anything else that might have been expected, Frank, yet again, shocked the breath right out of her and swept her up into a hug. A full on, two-armed, chest to chest, belly to belly hug. He held her tightly there against him, and she felt his face settle into the crook of her neck. 

 

Karen’s arms floundered for a half a second before wrapping around his neck. Furious as she was, the fight went right out of her, and she settled for melting into his embrace. It was foolish and pathetic, but her whole being had been so worried about him for  _ three months _ . The relief was almost unbearable. It was also conflicting. He started to rub her back up and down when the sobs began. Sharp quakes and shudders before the silent tears fell. She was exhausted. 

 

Finally, it was too much and she yanked herself away. She replaced his arms with her own, which was stupidly inadequate, but that’s all she had in the moment. He was watching her still, silently, and not at all surprised by her behavior. It pissed her off. 

 

“Where the fuck have you been?” she grated out, half snarl, half whisper. He shrugged.

 

“All over. Around.” 

 

She pinched her lips together and shook her head. “That’s not an answer.” Instead of indulging his bullshit, she started walking toward her building. She figured he would follow. And he did. She jerkily pulled out her keys and tried to open the door, hands shaking.

 

She felt his presence behind her before he even touched her. Just his hands on her shoulders, his forehead to the back of hers. Annoyingly, her body relaxed and she let out a sigh. 

 

“You can’t just  _ show up  _ and not explain--”

 

“Who said--?”

 

“Following me home from a bar? Coming to my building in the middle of the night? Not--”

 

“Interrupting a date?” he shot back, a seeming correction or addition, or whatever the hell she thought he was doing. Karen looked back at him incredulously, ready to rip his head off. “That asshole didn’t even wait for you to open the door.”

 

“Danny?” she spluttered out. “I am not--! Danny is not--!” She snarled at him and turned back to opening her door with a vicious yank. She nearly slammed it in his face, but he stuck a foot in before she could, and followed her to the stairs. No way in fuck was she standing in an elevator with him. She stomped up the stairwell, fuming, doing her best to ignore him. It wasn’t working. 

 

“I mean, I know your taste in men in questionable…” he grumbled, a deliberate flight below her. She looked over the railing, ready to throw her clutch at his head.

 

“I am not dating Danny!”

 

Frank took slow steps, continuing to follow her. “Right, you’re dating Danny and Richard and  _ Greg _ \--”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“A real estate agent in Brooklyn? C’mon, Karen, you know better.” 

 

Karen got to her apartment door, unlocked the three deadbolts in complete silence, knowing that he was behind her, looming, waiting for a response. She knew what this was. She knew exactly what he was doing. Frank Castle was not slick or subtle or even all that smart sometimes. Karen wondered idly if this was how  _ she _ felt right before he left for another tour. Because it was too practiced to be the first time. 

 

She jerked the door open, moved to stand just inside the entryway, blocking his entrance and staring him down. She couldn’t have told you what her face looked like, but Frank looked a little taken aback by it. Damn, he looked good. His hair was longer, but his beard was trimmed neat. No bruises or cuts or swollen skin. Just Frank. He always looked good, dark and brooding, and just a bit dangerous. He even looked a little less haunted around the eyes, as if he’d been sleeping more. Why the hell did he have to look so good?

 

Karen let out a fortifying breath and stared him down. 

 

“You can meet me tomorrow at 11 at the river.” She jabbed her hand holding her in keys at him, “But you do  _ not _ get to show up when you feel like it and act like an asshole!”

 

With that, she did slam the door in his face, and promptly went for her bottle of whiskey (which she kept stashed away from Jessica’s well-trained eyes). 

 

*

 

Frank Castle was nervous. Which was not something that happened to him often anymore. Karen Page had that effect on him; making him  _ feel _ things he thought he couldn’t. Truthfully, he wasn’t concerned about what he had to do or say, that would come, and he’d answer any question she put to him. 

 

No, he was nervous she wouldn’t show up at all. 

 

Granted, she was the one who picked the time and place. She’d left those roses in her window, replaced them, maintained them. Fuck, she’d left her damn window unlocked for him. He knew because he saw. Because while he was out of commission, she had been under Micro’s surveillance, and he’d received a full report about her status every day. Every day for almost 100 days, Micro had kept him apprised of her condition and whereabouts. He ran full background checks on the people she spent time with, deep dives on the men she was going out with, and dossiers on all the superhumans who’d gained her friendship. Micro never questioned it, and Frank was grateful.

 

Pete, he reminded himself. He was Pete Castiglione now. 

 

Fuck it, whatever, Pete, Frank, it was all the same to her. He was just the asshole who saved her life, disappeared, and showed back up with more demands only to repeat the cycle. She deserved better. She deserved  _ more _ . And he knew that. He did. He had every intention of getting one last look at her before disappearing, but each time, she’d been with someone. Trish Walker was a snoop with a snoop of a best friend, and he didn’t need that noise. But when Karen had seen him outside her apartment, watched him while that boring real estate agent kissed her cheek, he couldn’t make himself leave. She’d looked so goddamn beautiful standing there, so goddamn sad. And all he wanted to do was make that sad go away, have her smile at him for real one more time. 

 

He just couldn’t make himself do it. Not on his own. Not without her permission.

 

It was a boneheaded thing to do, accuse her of dating a bunch of men, getting hostile about it. He’d thought it was the best way. Karen was wickedly independent, fiercely self-sufficient, and he knew damn well that those men were casual acquaintances. Friends of friends of co-workers who she barely spent time with. He didn’t give a shit about them. He needed her to tell him to go. He needed her to tell him to fuck off and stay gone this time. If she said it, he could do it. That much he was sure of. He’d do anything Karen asked him. 

 

But it didn’t happen. She’d looked up at him, sad and gorgeous and worn out, and told him to meet her. Oh, the fire hadn’t simmered down in the least, but he wasn’t getting his walking papers just yet. He would, though, he knew that much. Karen just needed to get her answers first.

 

Unfortunately, that meant she had to show up. And he wasn’t wholly convinced that she would. He would wait though. For sure. He would wait until the sun went down and came back up again, and when it did, he would vanish like she wanted. It was a matter of patience and time. He had a lot more of both nowadays. 

 

*

 

Her walk to their bench was slow. Deliberately slow. She didn’t want to get there first. Didn’t want to be left waiting again, waiting for him to show up just in case he never did. She was sick of waiting on people to get their shit together. Especially Frank. Not that she knew what he wanted from her. Not that it was particularly fair of her to ask anything of him. Regardless, she’d asked him to come, and a very deep part of her gut was sure he would come. He would be there waiting for her. 

 

He was. And even from a distance, she could see the way her leg bounced, how nervous he was. He thought she wasn’t going to show. Which was not surprising because she’d debated it for a while. Maybe it was better for the both of them if she stopped this right here, before anything progressed. Maybe it was better to leave the loose ends out and ignore the ache in her chest. 

 

But as usual, when it came to Frank Castle, Karen was compelled to follow. To pursue. To uncover. Because angry as she was, tired as she was, she’d missed him. She’d worried over him. She’d cried over him. And she couldn’t bear to lose him again, not without trying. 

 

So she walked up to the bench and sat down, completely ignoring his look of disbelief. She kept her hands in the pockets of her jacket and stared ahead at the water. 

 

“Start talking.”

 

So he did. He recounted nearly every minute of his life from the moment he left her in that elevator to showing up at her building the night before. Every sordid detail, every death, every injury, every betrayal. He was Pete now, an average construction worker with a studio apartment. He was going to a veterans group run by an old friend. He was going to Sunday dinners with the Liebermans. He had Max and a routine and a life free of the Punisher, if he wanted.

 

Karen absorbed every bit of information he gave her, taking note of the gaps, gut clenching and heart breaking to know the real story behind everything, and that pain easing when he talked about having a semi-normal life again. All of it was hard to take, and she couldn’t ignore that it was hard to take because he didn’t mention her once in the entire monologue. 

 

“That’s great, Frank,” she said quietly, kicking at a rock by her foot. He nudged her shoulder.

 

“It’s Pete.” 

 

She let herself smile. “Absolutely not.” 

 

“Kinda necessary.”

 

“Kinda awful. Pete sounds like a douche.” She shrugged. “I like Frank.” 

 

Karen heard him sigh, saw his hands clasp together and rest on his knees as he bent forward. 

 

“You’re the only person who does,” he confessed very quietly. He dropped his head only to lift it again to look out over the water. She had a hand under her head, propping it up on the back of the bench, looking at him instead. “You still haven’t asked me.” 

 

“Asked you what?”

 

He turned his head to scowl at her. “You know what.” 

 

And she did, she just wasn’t going to make it easy on him. She bit back her smirk.

 

“I’m sure it’s stupid. Probably better if I don’t know.” 

 

Much to her surprise, he turned a lopsided grin at her, warm and light, like she’d just said the best thing ever. 

 

“Probably,” he answered, eyes drifting over her. She felt hot under her jacket and shifted her legs. He noticed, because of course he did. He leaned toward her.

 

“Karen--”

 

“Don’t,” she stopped him, without moving, just that one word. He sighed and shook his head.

 

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman.” 

 

“A little less Punisher and a little more Frank.”

 

He scowled again. “I can’t give you that.” 

 

“No. You won’t. There’s a difference.” 

 

“That’s not--”

 

“I thought you were dead. For 93 days, I thought you were dead. And I had to be interviewed by dozens of people asking me all sorts of ridiculous questions. They asked me what it was like to get up close and personal with the Punisher. What was it like to look evil in the eye?” He grunted at that. “I said what I always said. And then I just stopped answering.” 

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“You saved my life and you’re sorry.” 

 

“No, I’m sorry for putting you in danger, I’m sorry I had to save you. I’m sorry my name follows you around like the goddamn plague.” 

 

She hummed, still watching him torture himself. 

 

“The worst part was the lying. Not about the hostage farce, I told Brett all about that.”

 

“Of course you did--”

 

“No, it was lying to people about being scared. Or feeling threatened. Because all I could think was that I feel safest with you. That I felt brave with your arms around me and a gun pointed at my head. Couldn’t say that I was scared for your life. That I thought they were going to kill you. That I worried if you were okay, if someone had gotten to you or hurt you. Couldn’t tell them how much I wanted to kiss you in that fucking elevator…”

 

*

 

Frank could feel how wide his eyes got when he looked at her, could feel his hand shake from sheer effort of keeping it on his knee. He clenched his fingers into his jeans, trying to keep his breathing even. Karen was still turned toward him, body language open but not quite inviting. Her eyes were on him; those crazy blue eyes heavy on him, darting over him. He wanted to fidget, but he kept still, letting her look. A deeper, feral part of him purred contentedly at the bald appreciation in her look. 

 

He mimicked her posture, turning toward her and leaning in. She lifted a hand to his face, her fingertips rubbing absently against his scruff. He pushed into it like a damn cat, unable to resist her attentions. She smiled at him when he kissed her fingers and palm.  

 

“I’m gettin’ real sick of saying goodbye to you,” he told her.

 

“So stop.” 

 

He scoffed and shook his head and took up her hand between his own. “You should tell me to fuck off. Stay away for good this time.” 

 

She tugged at his hand to get his attention. “Is that what you want?” 

 

“It’s about what  _ you _ want, Karen.” 

 

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “You make everything about me, but this? This is all you. You, Frank Castle, have to decide what you want.” 

 

He didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t have to think twice. He reached for her, one hand to the back of her head to bring their lips together. She came easily, opening immediately, her hand clutching the outside of his arm. Something clicked back into place for him in that moment, when her lips dragged against his, lush and sweet. She tasted like cold and cinnamon. 

 

When Frank pulled back, he kept close, their noses brushing and foreheads touching. Karen was smiling, beaming like a goddamn ray of sunshine. Frank found that he wasn’t so afraid to be in the light anymore. He pecked her lips soundly one more time.

 

“So, ma’am, any more questions?”  

 

Her sigh was light and sweet, infringing on a laugh.

 

“Just one.” She twinkled those baby blues at him, a devilish grin spread across her lips. “Your place or mine?” 

  
  
  



End file.
